


Reckless

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder, Peter corrupts Stiles, Sex, Stiles is on the edge, car crash, thrills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Stiles, dear," Peter's voice said, "what do you think you're doing?""What do you think I'm doing?" Stiles said back, unable to hold back the bite to his words. Anger simmered under his skin and he couldn't rid himself of the stench."I'd recognize the sound of your fucked up engine from anywhere." Stiles took a breath and tried not to snap at him for talking bad about his Jeep. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"Stiles' tongue worked behind his gritted teeth. "I just needed something to do."Peter was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I think I have something you'll like..." Then, playfully, he chirped, "Try to keep up."---Or, Stiles is on the edge of a breakdown and Peter is there to corrupt him.It leads to drifting across snowy roads, a car-wreck, murder and sex, exclusively in that order.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 98





	Reckless

He was feeling reckless.

More accurately; he was _fucking pissed_. Pissed at anything and everything. Pissed at the very fact that he was pissed. And he needed an outlet.

It had just been a bad week. One thing after another compounded on top of each other and made a million tiny little problems turn into the most overwhelming amount of trials one could face. It was too much. It wasn't fair. He just needed a break.

He just needed a fucking _break._

So, when he caught Peter sneaking off one day, he followed him. He followed him for nothing else than to have something to do. For nothing else than to have someone fucking _notice_ him, because Peter would catch him, and when he did he'd be mad.

Stiles wanted him to be mad.

He glared at the bright oncoming lights and sunk his teeth into twizzler after twizzler, chewing with needless strength until his jaw began to hurt.

That's when his phone rung.

"Stiles, dear," Peter's voice said, "what do you think you're doing?"

"What is it that _you_ think I'm doing?" Stiles said back, unable to hold back the bite to his words. Anger simmered under his skin and he couldn't rid himself of the stench.

"I'd recognize the sound of your fucked up engine from anywhere." Stiles took a breath and tried not to snap at him for talking bad about his Jeep. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

Stiles' tongue worked behind his gritted teeth. "I just needed something to do."

Peter was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I think I have something you'll like..." Then, playfully, he chirped, "Try to keep up."

Peter got off on the next exit and Stiles followed close behind. All seemed normal until his first turn off the main road. Then, he sped up.

This wouldn't be much of an adrenaline rusher if it wasn't winter - if it wasn't in the middle of the biggest snowfall they'd had in nearly five years.

If the roads weren't covered in ice and coated with snow.

Stiles watched Peter gun it, slam on the breaks, and watched Derek's Camero drift. It's back end continued down the length of the road while its front spun towards Stiles, and it skidded sideways to a halt in the other lane.

Peter flashed his lights.

_Oh,_ Stiles thought. _I see._

For half a moment, he wondered if his poor old car could handle it.

Then he remembered all the times he'd put the pedal to the metal to escape a raging beast-monster or the like, and decided it could take it.

And, starting off in a rough jerk, he gunned it.

Peter's back tires spun as he slammed into reverse, eventually catching purchase and rocketing him backwards. He turned the wheel sharply and his car whipped back forward.

The two cars raced down the road, skidding at every turn, drifting at every bevel and bend. Stiles laughed, and laughed and laughed. Practically roared with excitement as his arms and hands and legs shook. All he saw was Peter's headlights and the road, and all he cared about was keeping up with him. He wasn't thinking about the damage.

And he wasn't thinking about this turn, which was a little tight. Peter hugged the inside, but Stiles drifted wide.

He saw the flash of headlights, even felt himself gear up for a scream, but didn't remember ever letting it out.

It felt as if his entire body left the earth and hurtled towards the sun for a moment before crashing right back down to the ground. It was his brain playing fantastical tricks to try to process what had just happened.

Opening his eyes in the moment he had finally stilled, he saw that a huge white Chevy four-door trick had slammed into him. He stared at the sleek truck for a moment in a daze as he sluggishly realized that he hurt.

He hurt a _lot._

"Oh man!" he heard come from the truck. He looked ahead of him, around the bend, and watched Peter's Camero slide into a ditch. He watched the man kick the door open and crawl out, running over.

"Stiles!"

Stiles looked down.

His thin metal door had caved in, trapping his left arm against his side. His chest was sore, the left side of his head hurt, and his left cheek felt wet.

The airbag had never deployed.

_Good thing I was just t-boned and not hit head-on_ , he thought.

He swallowed the bloody spit in his mouth and slowly picked his right arm up from his side, working to undo his seatbelt. Everything seemed fine.

"Stiles!"

He glanced up and watched Peter yank the truck's door open, yelling at the guy to reverse his fucking car before he pulls the damn thing away himself.

All things considered, the dude driving the truck sounded genuinely frightened.

Stiles groaned when his Jeep leveled out once the truck was backed off of him. He saw Peter's hands grabbing at his door, yanking hard enough to rock the entire car. Finally, the door just snapped clean off and Peter tossed it away, ripping the seat belt to get Stiles loose.

The boy looked down at his left arm. He turned his hand over, opened and closed his fist. He bent it at the elbow and moved his shoulder. It felt stiff and sore, but he saw no blood, felt no broken bones. He moved his mouth, and felt a sore on the side of his tongue, but no other injuries. He had just bitten it, is all. That's why he tasted blood.

He reached a heavy, shaking hand up to the rear-view mirror and turned it towards his face. He saw split skin over his brow and temple, but it was hardly anything to worry about. He's had so much worse.

Finally he took his foot off the brake where it had been frozen tight. He rotated his ankles, bent and stretched his legs. They were fine too.

"Stiles, quit ignoring me!" Peter snapped. He looked over at the man and saw his stressed expression and just couldn't help it. His lips spread into a grin and he laughed.

"Look at you!" He laughed harder and allowed Peter to pull him out of the car onto his feet. He turned around to look at his dented, warped and fucked-up car and laughed even more. "Look at my car!"

"Stiles, please..." Peter took his face in his hands and looked at his head wound, frowning deeply, an expression of _fear_.

"Hey man, is he _okay?_ " the truck-driver asked, sounding just as concerned as Peter looked. Stiles gritted his teeth in a grin. He turned back to his car, where his dagger sat underneath his seat. The crash had flung it to the floor, and he reached for it.

He walked up to the white truck that had hit him and stabbed the tire, ripping at it until air burst out of it, flattening in seconds.

He looked up at the guy who had been driving and said with a snarl, " _No,_ I'm not _okay._ "

"Stiles-"

"SHUT UP!" He whipped around and didn't even think about it. He just buried the knife into Peter's shoulder.

The guy in the car screamed. Peter stared at the knife in his arm with an open mouth, then turned his face towards Stiles and snarled. He grabbed Stiles by the throat and pushed him up against the truck. "You listen here, you little shit. I know you're having a breakdown but you don't get to ruin my favorite fucking shirt because you're having a temper tantrum!"

Peter's grip on his neck tightened.

Stiles liked it.

"I can smell your anger." Peter's eyes flashed. "Do you want to sate the rage?"

" _Yes._ "

Peter pulled the knife out of his shoulder and handed it to Stiles. "Kill him," he said, jerking his chin towards the guy in the truck.

He let go of Stiles' neck and made him turn around.

The guy in the truck glanced between them several times. Then he climbed out of the passenger door and sprinted down the road.

"Yes?" Peter asked, impatient. Stiles could see how bad he wanted to chase that man down and take him down in the way his body twitched towards him. He could see the instinct screaming at him.

"Yes," Stiles decided on a whim, excitement lighting up a part of him that had waited far too long to come out.

Peter grinned, then took off for the guy. Stiles walked towards them, watching Peter kick up snow under his feet. Watching him dive for the guy, grabbing his legs and taking him down hard. Watching him grab the guy's hair and shove his face into the icy snow, hearing his lung-ripping growl.

Peter yanked the guy up and brought him back to Stiles, all the while the stranger yelled and kicked and tried to scramble away. Peter tossed him at Stiles' feet on his face and wrenched his arms between his shoulder blades, putting all of his weight on his lower back with a knee.

"Do it, Stiles," Peter said. "Kill him. Give in to the darkness."

Peter grabbed the guy's hair with his other hand and pulled his head back, baring his throat. Stiles ignored the guy's screams and knelt down, tightening his hold on the knife.

"Peter," Stiles said, looking up into his wildly glowing blue eyes. He wasn't scared, per say. He couldn't be. He wasn't thinking. The rage was controlling him. But he was hesitant.

"Stiles you are so unbelievably attractive to me right now," Peter snapped, "Don't you dare stop now and ruin this for me."

Stiles barked a venomous laugh and slit the guy's throat just to prove a point. The guy fell limp with a lingering gurgle and Peter dropped him, staring down at the blood seeping into the snow, then looked up at Stiles.

"Fuck," Peter said, eyes wide at Stiles. "Fuck."

"Yeah, fuck," Stiles agreed. "Fuck _me_."

Peter nodded. "Yes, dear. Absolutely." He got to his feet and pulled Stiles up by the hand. "We have to get out of here first." He and Stiles ran to the Camero. Both of them were quiet, a little stunned, possibly. But once they got into the car and seated, and Peter crawled his car out of the ditch and drifted into the lane, Stiles saw the huge bulge in his jeans and acted on impulse, reaching over and palming his crotch.

Peter jerked and hissed in a breath, then let his thighs fall apart wider.

While Peter tore ass down the road, Stiles occupied himself with the hard length of arousal between Peter's thighs. With his other hand, absently, he worked on his own.

Then he started laughing again.

"I think you've been broken," Peter said quietly. He sounded ever so slightly regretful, but his cock didn't seem to get the message.

"What, because I killed someone? I've killed people before."

"Never innocent. Never for no reason."

"Everyone leaves room for improvement. We're all works in progress." Stiles looked up into Peter's eyes. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you've always wanted. To... to _corrupt_ me."

" _Yes,_ " Peter confirmed. "I never thought it would be so easy, though."

"I saw it coming a mile away," Stiles told him. "Just... the anger. The recklessness. I was going to refrain, but... all it took was the right push, I guess."

"Not that I'm complaining, darling..." Stiles unzipped Peter's jeans and pulled out his cock. Mmm, it was long and delicately arched and fucking _perfect_. "But do you think you'll regret this once you've come down from the anger?"

"I don't fucking care, Peter. I don't want to think." Stiles leaned down and put Peter in his mouth. The werewolf groaned and buried his hand in Stiles' hair, holding him tightly.

"I can't drive like this, baby," Peter told him as the car jerked.

"Then pull over," Stiles growled, pulling his own cock out and stroking it while he swallowed Peter down.

"Fuck, hold on!" Peter groaned. Stiles leaned back and held onto the car door as Peter hit the brakes. They slid off the road and Peter guided them through the trees, just barely in control. He slid to a stop in the shade of a cluster of thick evergreens.

They moved to the backseats, giving in to the sudden lack of Stiles' inhibitions and fucked. Hard. Rough.

They both jumped when there was a knock on the window. A deputy.

"I don't care," Stiles said, ignoring the guy after a glance and continuing to stroke his own cock as Peter drilled him. Peter stared right into the deputy's eyes as he groaned and came inside of Stiles. He leaned back and pulled the boy up onto his knees, sucking a hickey onto his neck.

"Want to bother him?" Peter asked him with a chuckle as he hit his prostate ruthlessly, reaching down to wrap his hand around Stiles' cock and help him closer to the edge.

The deputy broke the Camero's handle and yanked the door open, raising a gun at them and telling them to come out with their hands up.

Stiles grinned as he felt his thighs seize up, throwing his head back and moaning as he came. His ropes of semen flew out in quick bursts and covered the guy's uniform. Peter watched with rapt fascination and laughed breathlessly, watching the guy look down at his cum-stained uniform with a look of disgust and surprise.

Peter continued to milk Stiles of his orgasm, ignoring the deputy completely and getting the boy he ruined to writhe on his cock, moaning sweetly and reaching up to pull at Peter's hair.

Finally, the deputy reached in pulled Stiles out of the car.

Peter royally fucked him up for that, but the next car of deputies got the drop on them.

Stiles stared at his father across from the interrogation table and didn't feel an ounce of emotion.

"Son... What have you _done_?"


End file.
